


we've got want in our bones

by Starships



Series: Himbo [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, An Excuse To Make This OT3 Fuck, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bisexuality, Consent, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M/M, Kink, Medium Burn, Multi, Polyamory, but happily, f/m - Freeform, lipstick kink, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starships/pseuds/Starships
Summary: Hades and Morrigan both set their sights on one Hien Rijin, and are determined to beat the other in winning his affections.Hien sees another solution.
Relationships: Hien Rijin/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hien Rijin, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light/Hien Rijin
Series: Himbo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546213
Comments: 79
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

Hades raises an immaculate eyebrow at the neon pink porxie in front of him, the paint still wet and fumes hanging densely in the small alley. Morrigan is beaming.

"Well?" she asks, eagerly. The hand not wrapped around the acrylic spray paint proudly labeled 'MAMBO' is at her mouth, where she anxiously chews her nails into stubs. It's a positively vile habit he has yet to break her of, no matter how many times he swaps her clear top coat with bitter polish. She seems to never notice, the gremlin.

"It's very bright," he says cautiously, aiming for what he hopes is diplomatic.

"You hate it," she says, crestfallen. Her smile droops immediately and his heart tugs at him in the annoying way that indicates he may be an asshole.

He takes two careful steps back, not so subtly checking the dingy ground for anything unseemly he could step in.

The mural is, technically speaking, one of her better ones. Her outlines are clear, she has taken the time to stipple colors into a gradient in what he suspected was actually a heroic feat with one of her make up sponges. There isn't a sloppy tag in sight, and her signature is becoming more consistent with each piece she finishes.

It's just so… garish. The porxie's tail is in the beak of a chocobo baby, for god's sake. And he's wearing_ overalls. _

"You're getting better," he replies, honestly. "The content and my opinions therein are irrelevant to your improving skill. The phallus is incorrectly proportioned."

_ "What_," she snaps. "No way. I think I know what a dick looks like, Hades."

"I think," he purrs, fiddling with his earring, "that you don't."

He briefly considers the dangers of taunting a woman armed with electric flamingo spray paint, but he dismisses them swiftly.

She could try.

* * *

He bites back a moan as her fingers dig into his scalp, massaging olive oil into the remaining paint to soften it as it clings stubbornly to his otherwise pristine hair. He is desperately focusing on the cooking show she had picked and avoiding all thoughts of pink stains and her inevitable teasing on the degree to which he matches his cupcake frosting.

He'll never bake a cupcake again just to spite her.

He sits cross legged on the floor between her knees, and she on the couch; she has the remote, the oil, and the high ground. Were Thancred here, he would advise that this is the improper time for revenge.

"What the fuck is an aubergine," he says instead.

"Eggplant," she replies, spreading her fingers around his ear and over his temples in a move that must surely be illegal, it is so laden with bliss. "I thought you were cultured, Hades."

"No one will believe that you knew something about food that I didn't."

"That's true," she says, leaning in to give the shell of his ear a kitten lick. "But I'll know."

Her words are a husky whisper, and a shiver jolts its way up his spine. He is not going to get hard over _ eggplant. _

His eyes roll back when she takes the fine tooth comb and gently draws it through one snowy lock after another. She is meticulous, and he takes guilt free pleasure in melting against her and allowing her to groom him, even if it is slicker and messier than he usually prefers.

Well.

In his hair, anyway.

He cringes at the quantity of pink flakes and _ globs _she scrapes from the comb onto the towel beside her. It had started just as white as his hair this morning, and it is ending just as ruined.

"You're fine, you baby," she teases gently. "And I know what a dick looks like, _ and _ my art is immaculate."

"I'll have you know--" he begins, but stops when she yanks. He sighs as the TV repeats aubergine on what appears to be an endless loop. "Your art is immaculate," he concedes. "But your penises need research."

"Hmm," she murmurs thoughtfully, scratching her oil-slick nails down the back of his neck the way he likes. He bites back a wild sound from his throat, not ready to give her the satisfaction. "Maybe I do. Maybe I need an example, to study."

He tilts his head back against her belly, rubbing oil and mambo pink stains into her university sweatshirt. She doesn't seem to mind, tracing his throat and sliding her hand into his button-up.

"I've thought about ruining your pretty outfit since you left this morning," she murmurs, flicking his nipple.

"I think about ruining you all the time," he says, voice raspy and laden with the familiar darkness she often sees lurking at the edges of him.

"You can try," she says, and she falls upon him with a wolfish smile.

* * *

She's wiping spilled chocolate syrup from her hands onto her red apron when someone new walks into The Grateful Bread, mirrored aviators perched above a high ponytail and full lips sucking on the straw of a Jamba Juice smoothie.

She can see the darker tint through the weak orange plastic, and she just _ knows _ its got wheatgrass in it. Not that she cares when he has arms like _ that. _She can tolerate someone who drinks bitter nonsense when she can so clearly see the results right in front of her.

She tends to like her men broodier, but she finds herself a little weak kneed as this one _ winks _when he catches her ogling.

"Hi!" she chirps. "Welcome! What can I get you this morning?"

He hums thoughtfully, finger perched on his chin. He leans forward like he's looking into the pastry case, but his eyes don't leave hers the entire time.

They are very, very green. And his tank top is very, very tight.

"I'm told the pastries across the street are to die for," he says, voice rich, deep, and accented.

Seven hells.

Against her will, her eyes flick to the towering windows at the front of the shop, and she peers across the street into the darkened glass of the café that Hades owns_. Persephone_. She had made him the shop sign, petite white neon twisted into effusive cursive. She hadn't stuck with glass bending, but she would never feel like she wasted her time in the class as long as he so proudly displayed the fruits of her labor in the place he felt most at home.

He opens two hours before she does, and even if it weren't for the early hours she wouldn't work for him, no matter how many times he asks. Too messy, she says. You love messy, he replies.

And it's true. She does.

"They are," she confirms. "Persephone is the best. No idea what you're doing here."

His grin widens, showing off unfairly immaculate teeth. _ Money, _ she thinks. This man has money.

"Why, I'm here for the company," he declares, gesturing widely as though to encapsulate the entire café, sucking on that stupid smoothie of his. "I've also been told a thing or two about your… charming atmosphere."

Morrigan was probably being punk'd, but if she was, it had never been by someone more beautiful.

"Morrigan," she says, sticking her hand out to shake before snapping it back, realizing with horror it's still sticky and decidedly _ brown _ because a single stubborn mocha decided to explode before she could mix it the moment this Adonis walked in.

He laughs, and the sound of that too is beautiful.

"Hien Rijin. A maple scone and matcha and whichever table is your favorite, if you please."

Without thinking, she points to the far corner, a half-moon mahogany table against the window with a cushy chair for one and the best view into Persephone.

She wonders if Hades will see him, and she hopes not. She wants this one to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

His gallery is full despite the smaller turnout than expected, and he himself only has two works remaining unsold. (Emet-Selch is, after all, exceptionally popular; the longer the world doesn't find out its him, the higher his value goes. The next person to say the word ‘Banksy’ in his direction, however, shall be shot.) One of them, a darker abstract piece of blacks and grays with a gaping scarlet maw in the middle, is one of Morrigan's favorites. He decides in that moment he’ll save it for her.

The heavy front door chimes cheerfully, signaling further traffic. The newcomer isn't tall, not like the woman on his arm who is all limbs and stilettos and sleek ebony hair. No, he's quite short; thick thighs that push against his tailored suit pants, an ironed white shirt that can barely button and definitely needs collar tabs to even think about holding its shape. He has come to a stop in front of the blackest piece Hades had made, _ Endless _, and he is soaking it in with wide, extremely green eyes. Hades has to bite back a groan when the other man thoughtfully bites his lip.

He has an eager mouth, Hades thinks. Lush. Pink.

He reminds himself to pick his jaw off the floor, lest he look like a guppy.

"I can't believe you're making me go, Hien," the tall woman whines, her voice managing to be both deep and sharp. "You know I hate your music."

"I'm not making you go, Tsuyu," he replies. "I already told you, you can stay home."

"You could just play _ good _ music," she counters.

Whatever music this beautiful man plays, Hades wants to hear it.

He takes brief stock of himself: tailored Alexander McQueen jacket and pantsuit, sharp-pointed Fluevog swordfish boots, blackened purple McGrath lipstick. His white hair is long and free, contrasting smartly against plum fabrics and shining in the gallery's light alongside the jacket's silver buttons. Morrigan even did his nails and eyeliner that morning. ("You have to get out of here before I fuck you stupid and ruin your beautiful clothes," she had said as she finished the last crisp black line above his eyes.

He had fisted her hair and bitten a screaming red mark into her throat, ignoring her mewls for more. "Later," he promised. "If you're good.")

Hades establishes direct eye contact with Hien's soon-to-be side piece as he approaches, and her eyes narrow knowingly. He leaves his wine on the nearest unattended counter and marches forward, block heels clicking smartly on the dark wood floors. The throng of people parts for their priest, the room naturally hushing as he cleaves a path into it, tossing cordial but curt nods as needed until he is there, using his much taller body to stare down into wide green eyes with far too little personal space to be polite.

"Hades," he says, extending a hand.

Hien's answering smile is blinding, and he shamelessly rakes his eyes over Hades' chest and arms.

"Hien Rijin," he says. "I play in a terrible band."

The indignant huff from the side goes ignored by both men.

"I own the gallery," Hades replies. "Drink?"

* * *

Hien is biting into Hades' palm in an effort to stifle his grunts and remain invisible to the smokers around the corner. His shirt is undone, thick cock trailing precum and saliva. The head is flushed an angry purple, the base smeared with the remnants of wine dark lipstick, and for the life of him he cannot catch his breath.

The alley behind the gallery was certainly proving to be hospitable.

(Hades had almost called the whole thing off when he realized Hien was wearing an ancient Deftones shirt underneath his Brooks Brothers suit, of all things.

Brooks Brothers. _ Deftones._)

"I'm going to ruin you with your own cum," Hades purrs into his ear. Hien snarls, biting down harder, grinding against the rough fabric of Hades' pants. The brick behind him is catching his now undone hair, and every sharp pull brings him higher. "And then you're going to sing for me."

Hien shoves his hand away and takes Hades' lip in his teeth. "My band, or my dick?"

Hades laughs, a wild sound in a face of ruined make up. "Yes," he replies.

When Hien comes it is with a shout that Hades greedily swallows down, and he rests limp against the ivy covered gallery wall as he is buttoned up and tidied almost gently. He takes note that his shirt is, in fact, soaked with his own cum, and Hades is seeing to it that he keeps it that way.

"Come to Persephone tonight. Downtown." Hades nips his ear playfully. "Be there by eight."

* * *

The colossal doors of Persephone are squeaking.

Hades stares at the smoky blue wood like he could carve a hole into it with his mind. Each hinge shy of the ceiling has been oiled, the floor has been cleared, the mats moved. The two top most articulations are out of his reach, but Urianger had taken the shop's ladder home for some repair or another despite being as tall as a damned giraffe and obviously not needing it.

Morrigan is singing loudly and off-key from the back kitchen, and he smiles to himself even through the irritation of the squeak.

She is undoubtedly stealing a cupcake or several under the guise of inspecting the two art collections he's deciding between for the walls, and he will later claim to not notice the theft as he always does. Watching her lips wrap around something he had baked has long been a reward in and of itself. She is a hedonist if ever he has known one, and there is little he wouldn't do for the pleasure of her enjoyment.

"Hades!" she calls, sing-song. "I like the nudes."

"Of course you do," he says, adjusting the plush black mats back into place in the entry. "It's a series of feral women, just like you."

There's a crash in the back, and he winces and deliberately chooses to not investigate.

"You can't go wrong with wolves and tits."

"I'll hang them before the show tonight, then."

Her head pokes out from the velvet drapery separating the kitchen from the rest of the café, flour making her dark braids appear ashen. "Which band is playing this time?"

"A surprise for you. I met their singer at my gallery -- he was with a woman that may as well have been disdain incarnate, but his speaking voice alone was exquisite. Never mind that she waxed poetic for actual hours about hating his music, so it must be divine."

"Wait, Hades. You haven't _ heard _ them yet? Persephone has a _ reputation _ to maintain, you know."

He went to her past the curtain, gently brushing flour from her hair and pinning her braids back into place. He would investigate whatever mess she had made after she went to class.

"I have a good feeling, Morrigan. I'm also never wrong."

She snorts, loud and undignified. "You're an ass."

"Better an ass than a gawky, ill-mannered, graceless heathen."

She pinches him hard, leaning forward to lick his bottom lip. He wonders if she can taste Hien there. "Only a graceless heathen could suck cock like I do, Hades."

He can hardly argue.

* * *

His hair is down.

_ His hair is down. _

Morrigan chokes on her glass of Whistle Pig when she meets Hien's eyes in the dim lighting of Persephone, his smirk so sharp it could cut. She is staring holes into every inch of him, and from the way he meets her gaze, he knows it.

What on earth he is doing here, wearing a leather jacket and leather _ pants _ that have been poured onto him and a Third Eye Blind t-shirt, looking _ like that. _ Like sin she could ride until her legs gave out. He even has several exposed hickeys, and a smear of dark lipstick on his left earlobe.

Wait.

"Is that an honest to gods Third Eye Blind shirt?" she asks Hades.

He shrugs, sipping a Japanese scotch that Morrigan is sure costs what most people pay in rent.

"It was Deftones this morning," he says. "He has terrible taste."

She pauses.

"Is that your lipstick on his ear?"

"Technically, it’s your lipstick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hades' Outfit, just imagine it in a real dark plum:
> 
> https://www.1stdibs.com/fashion/clothing/suits-outfits-ensembles/alexander-mcqueen-runway-jacket-pant-suit-w-2002-collection/id-v_921862/
> 
> His shoes:
> 
> https://www.fluevog.com/shop/5430-magnus-black?item=27&of=31&anchor=true&show=all
> 
> His lipstick, Pat McGrath in Deep Void:
> 
> https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/shop/product/pat-mcgrath-labs-mattetrance-lipstick-in-deep-void-210-8613171


	3. Chapter 3

  
Hades had turned all the electric lights off in Persephone, leaving a candle for each lupine woman trapped in a painting and each table of patrons.  
  
"Drama, darling," he had said when Morrigan asked him why.  
  
Now, she knows exactly what he meant.  
  
Hien's face is feral as a deep, guttural wail is ripped from him. His horsehead fiddle cries with him, twining around his voice in chilling, ethereal beauty that raises the hairs on her arms as though a storm is coming. The umbrage cast by the candlelight is sharp and ominous, like he is risen from the deep in planes of hard muscle and shadow; she wants to fall to her knees before him and pray at the altar of his body.  
  
Drums rise behind him and he rocks with their heartbeat, and she knows she has to eat her words because apparently, Hades is always right. Hien's music is divinity itself.  
  
She and Hades trade off tending the bar, and she ruins no less than six cocktails because she cannot stop staring at Hien's hands atop the bow, or the ivory white strings tumbling his sound into the room. She is lost in the waves, and she wants desperately to drown.  
  
Hades is looking particularly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open enough to catch a fly and hands hovering a twenty over the till, forgetting to make change. She can't even delight in the stupid face he's wearing, because hers is definitely worse.  
  
They've made a horrible mistake; they are not, in fact, the ones doing the seducing here.  
  
She is an open, raw nerve of need, and Hades' hooded golden gaze suggests much of the same.  


* * *

  
  
His hair is snow in her fist, soft and loose and shining in the starlight. He's on the high steel counter in Persephone's kitchen, hunched in half to reach her where she stands on the floor, and she is sucking punishing marks into his chest while Hien's band lights the air on fire from the other room.  
  
She tries to climb on top of him on the counter, but her denim clad knee slips on the metal and her open palm slaps into a stacked tray of cupcakes, and when he stares at her with abject, genuine horror she cannot possibly do anything but laugh and press the caramelized fig buttercream against his nose.  
  
"You're a monster," Hades mutters, only joking a little bit.  
  
"Do you think," she asks idly, dragging the flat of her tongue along her palm and scooping a dollop of frosting clean off, "that Hien would clean me up?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he muses, pressing his long fingers into the waistband of her jeans, sliding down despite the terrible angle and finding her predictably soaked. "He is an extremely dirty boy."  
  
She laughs throatily and shoves him. "I cannot believe you got to him first."  
  
"I can't believe you had already met and didn't tell me."  
  
She stuffs two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, shutting him up while his middle finger draws maddening, rapid circles on her clit.  
  
"Well, yeah," she says, having a hard time catching her breath as he sucks her fingertips clean, "I'm greedy."  
  
He speeds up without mercy, and she is hurtling toward an orgasm that she knows won't be nearly enough.  
  
"Yes," Hades hisses, pulling his mouth off her with a pronounced pop. "My greedy girl."  
  
He strokes her riot of dark hair softly, leaning in to nip and whisper, "You're going to cum on my hand, and I am going to present the smell of you in offering for our new friend, hm?"  
  
She isn't sure if she is wishing Hien's intense music covers her shriek, or if she is desperate for him to have heard it.  


* * *

Nearly an hour after they sneak back into the crowd, the performance comes to an end.  
  
"Congratulations!" Morrigan exclaims wholeheartedly, pounding Hien jovially on the back and ignoring how he's peeled his leather jacket off and his sweat has soaked his silly t-shirt, how slick his skin must be-- "That was a helluva show, my friend. Can I make you a drink?"  
  
With the music done, the lights of Persephone have been turned to low, and the drinking has begun again in earnest now that the crowd is no longer spellbound with the man in front of her.  
  
"What about a cuntlicker?" Hien asks mildly, arching a dark brow as she chokes on her whiskey and a whimpered "please" flees her mouth before she can stop it. A burst of tinkling glass behind her signals Hades has dropped the shot glasses he was putting into the cupboard.  
  
She coughs to cover it up, knowing the move is transparent and doing it anyway; she would give her kingdom for a modicum of composure.  
  
"Sure, I can do that," she replies, gathering the rum and vodka and vanilla pods and--  
  
"She can," Hades supplies helpfully, eagerly.  
  
"Gods," she hisses at him.  
  
"Good," Hien replies.  
  
All three of them freeze.  
  
Hades joins her at the bar across from Hien, holding himself to his full height and gazing directly into restless green eyes, his towering body sucking all the air out of the room.  
  
"Morrigan and I live upstairs," he says, writing the door code on the back of one of Persephone's punch cards and sliding it across the bar top. "If you're interested, after we close."  
  
Morrigan is studiously splitting a vanilla bean with her knife and scraping the seeds into a cocktail shaker and not looking at either of them. Hades cannot help his soft smile at her shyness, buying her time by getting her ice for the shaker and pineapple juice from the small fridge under the bar.  
  
Hien beats her to it. "Would you like that too, Morrigan?"  
  
His voice has dropped an octave, and she bites her lip, squirming. "Maybe he should show you what I think about it."  
  
Hades takes two brandied cherries from the container he had made earlier in the week, placing one in a glass and holding the other in front of Hien's mouth, waiting for the other man to close the distance.  
  
A jolt goes through her at his dull, bored tone; an affectation of judgement he has often employed while he keeps her on her knees for hours. "Morrigan came on this hand while you played for us, and now she would like you to taste."

Hien considers her thoughtfully, holds her honey eyes with his own while he opens his mouth and slides forward, devouring Hades' fingers whole and making a scene of sucking them off, moaning appreciatively at the flavor. He doesn't blink, or falter, and she is so wet she can feel it soak her jeans.  
  
"Does he always run the show?" he asks, rolling the fruit in his mouth.  
  
He is savoring her cunt, she realizes weakly.  
  
"Rarely," she replies.  
  
"Yes," Hades says at the same time.  
  
Hien's warm laughter fills the air, and as he slides the keycode into his pocket and stands, she is devolving into a jittery, sloppy mess of need and excitement.  
  
"I'll be back in two hours," he says sweetly, eyes dark.  
  
"We don't close by then," Morrigan begins mournfully, but Hades stops her with promise in his eyes.  
  
"Tonight we do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha oops


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a request for Hien's band, so here they are! <3
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4xZUr0BEfE
> 
> Please enjoy this snack bbs. Love, Star

Their home is an apartment above Persephone, two floors with a spiral staircase uniting them into an open loft above. The majority of the décor is clearly Hades' doing, sophisticated rich woods and wall to wall bookshelves, even a smoking pipe on the mantle -- but the space is peppered here and there with violently colored art, disorganized cans of spray paint, and comic books. A warm and cheerful fire crackles in a mid-century hearth, with soft rugs and a pile of colorful cushions in front of it, a ring of ungraded papers and textbooks giving a feel of lived-in clutter.

There is also a pair of denim booty shorts across a high backed reading chair, but it is honestly not clear which of the home's occupants they belong to.

Morrigan greets Hien at the door sans Hades. She is significantly less dressed than she had been at the bar, now clad only in a basic black thong and tank top. (And mismatched socks, Hien notices; the left covered in cassettes and the right in narwhals.) Her hair is down in a wild, dark halo and her eyes are bright. She bites her lip in a mimicry of shyness, and he cannot look away.

"Hien," she says simply, her smile blossoming into the sun.

He couldn't refuse her a smile in return even if he wanted to, and he steps forward to meet her in their first, gentle kiss; his mouth is full and soft and just a little bit chapped. She hums pleasantly in response, guiding his hands to the exposed globes of her ass before giving in to impulse and burying her hands in his thick, luxurious hair.

"I'm so glad you came," she says, nipping his bottom lip and sucking on it.

"As am I," he says. He nuzzles her neck, breathing in what remains of her scent after a long day. "And where is your esteemed companion?"

"Well, I, ah--" her words hesitate as he drags his tongue across an achingly long distance of her skin, "I thought maybe I could get him ready for you."

Hien is eager, and he is kissing her again. And _ gods_, he can kiss.

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs. He can hear us, but he --_ ah!-- _ can't exactly talk."

"I see." His voice is so rich, so controlled. She remembers his keening song and shivers. "And may I make you come before I see the present you've wrapped for me?"

"Oh, I don't know." Her voice is teasing. "He can get so lonely up there. Think how _ hard _ it must be to hear us scream from here."

He bites her lip, and it is actually a punishing sting; her cunt clenches with the pain. "I'm serious, Morrigan. What is allowed?"

She shakes the haze of him off long enough to take a deep breath and step away, resting a hand on his chest to keep her distance.

"You have to tell us if you don't like something, and we'll do the same. Uh, safe words -- red for stop, yellow for slow. Hades likes pain, but let me show you how far first. And, uh. Don't take us too seriously. We're mean to each other sometimes. You?"

He shrugs. "I'm flexible. I don't like to be on the receiving end of a knife."

She snorts a laugh. "Comfortable giving a good deal of pain then, are you?"

His grin widens, bordering on smug. "Like I said. Flexible."

Morrigan gives a curt, professional nod. "Is there anything else you would like us to know before we begin, then?"

"I'm going to lick your cunt, just like I promised."

Her toes curl, but she isn't ready to let him take her over just yet. "I wasted that drink, you know. Fresh vanilla and everything."

He steps toward her, slow and deliberate. It is _ definitely _ a threat as much as a promise. He still has those thunderous, beautiful leather boots on, and she has a sharp and aching urge to lick the base of the laces.

"I'm going to suck his cock with the taste of you still in my mouth."

"_Fuck_," she hisses. "_We _ should be showing _ you _ a good time, you know."

"Fuck 'should'. We _ should _ do whatever we want to."

He has backed her against the reading chair by the fire now, and she tumbles down while he kneels before her. She spreads her legs without being asked.

"Good girl," and her eyes roll back.

Hien nips at her knee, licks the scar she got from falling off her bike, sucks the bruise from the corner of The Grateful Bread's safe that sticks out where she always has to drop her bag off.

"You like being good, don't you?"

She slips her hand into her cotton thong, playing with her own wetness. She has no idea how long the fabric has been soaked through. "Sometimes."

Another bite, another lick. She is coming undone and they haven't even started. "And now? Do you want to behave for me?"

_ "Hnng. N-- _ Not really.”

His teeth and mouth open wide, set to consume; he sucks her, truly _ sucks _ her, devouring a hickey into the inside of her thigh with obscene noises that promise only ruin for her empty cunt. He hums thoughtfully as his only reply.

"What do you like?" she asks, unable to be ashamed of her own breathlessness.

"Pleasure," he replies simply, succinct and honest. Fingers play at the edge of her thong as his face asks for permission, and at her nod he pushes the fabric to the slide and stuffs her alarmingly full of three thick, long digits. She swears and her nails rake into the fabric of the chair's arms, and he groans loudly and unabashedly at her soaked heat.

"I knew it," he said, nearly talking to himself. "I knew you would be able to take it."

She can't breathe, can't see, can't feel beyond the electric thrust of him in her pussy. He is still fully dressed, fully composed, barely flushed -- the skin of her calves is pressed into his leather jacket, and she traces the embroidery on his back idly with her socked toes, trying to find any distraction to keep it together.

Then he's thrusting, hard and fast and sloppy. He gives her no other warning, swooping in to drag his tongue firmly across her clit, to pull his fingertips against her g-spot in fast, bouncing tugs.

She's going to come. She's going to _ squirt, _ all over his beautiful face.

"I'm-- I'm!" she tries to warn.

But all he does is bite, this sadist with his delicious lips and tongue and teeth, he _ bites _ her clit and that's it -- she's shrieking, the build too much to contain, the gush unstoppable. Her legs convulse and her back cramps and the wet slick of her own cunt is music as she comes back into her body, lulled by the happy pop of the fire, and her dearest love's most comfortable reading chair, and the strong and sure hands of their new lover.

"Thank you," she breathes weakly. Helpless laughter escapes her, and her entire being is warm and soft. "Make Hades clean you up."

He kisses her lips, chaste except for the messy shine of her own come. She is viciously satisfied to hear his voice shake. "The pleasure was mine, Morrigan. Join us when you're ready?"

"That, uh. Might be a while. I put water for him on the nightstand. He needs breaks sometimes."

"You have five minutes," Hien says, eyes glinting like blades in the fire. "And then I stop playing nice with him."

She giggles, and there's that snort again, and she probably sounds absurd but she's too well-fucked to care. "Gods, he's going to like you."


	5. Chapter 5

Morrigan waits exactly six minutes to begin her ascent upstairs, and true to his word, at fifteen seconds after five she hears the lilting song of Hades whimpering into his gag.

When her blue narwhal sock touches down, the seventh step creaks like it always does. She tries to be quiet, but her legs still aren't steady from coming against Hien's face, and to manage gentle footsteps the whole way proves impossible.

The sight before her is a feast.

Her dearest love, Hades, sitting on his heels, knees flung wide, gagged with her panties from that morning and breathing heavily. Earlier, she had braided his long white hair into the ties at his wrists with a pretty pink ribbon and secured them behind his back. Hien is in front of him, fully clothed in black leather against Hades' nearly translucent skin, choking him with a delicate curl of his fingers.

He looks coyly over his shoulder.

"I'm being gentle, since you haven't shown me how much he likes yet. Doesn't mean I want him to speak, though."

Morrigan knows she has a shit eating grin on her face.

"He _ does _ talk too much, doesn't he."

She cups Hades' jaw in her hands and turns him to face her. Hien loosens his fingers so he is only softly caressing, and regards them both thoughtfully.

"Are you good, my darling?"

His golden eyes smile at her while his lips cannot, and he nuzzles his cheek into her hand and nods. (Nothing more than an enormous, lazy lap cat, she thinks.)

She kisses his forehead and steps back. "He'll tap three times for a break when he can't speak. Is it okay if I watch?"

Both men nod, but she grips Hades harshly by the jaw and leans in to bite at his ear. "I didn't ask you, love. You don't get to break the rules just because we have a guest -- you'll respond when _ directly _ asked, and no other time."

She releases him with a shove, and he tumbles to his back, trapping his hands. It should look ungraceful and absurd, but Hades just looks lithe and predatory and smug.

She turns to Hien, kissing him sweetly on the cheek.

"Wipe that look off his face for me, would you?"

* * *

Hades is staring at the shining wetness on Morrigan's thighs, but his wrists are bound too tightly into his hair for the viewing angle to be comfortable. He regards Hien with the same scrutiny; hungry, feral, contained.

He is eager to find out what Hien is made of.

He doesn't expect much, to be honest. Hien is delectable but he comes apart easily, and Hades thinks now is no exception.

The other man displaces his gag and leans in to kiss him, tasting so thoroughly of Morrigan's pussy that Hades' eyes roll back into his head and he moans long and low. He hasn't eaten her out in _ days _ and he knows this evening he is in for crumbs at best. He licks into Hien's mouth, chasing the flavor of both of his lovers, and he purrs contentedly until the sudden shock of Hien flicking his cockhead jolts him back into his body.

"That okay?" Hien murmurs into his ear, suckling the lobe gently.

"Yes," Hades answers, voice hoarse. He looks over Hien's shoulder to see Morrigan giving him a cheeky wave with one hand and herself a quiet mewling orgasm with the other.

Minx. He knows she's going to come again and again in that chair, just so he can watch her while he is deprived.

She hasn't even put a towel down, as though the afghan under her delectable ass isn't three thousand lacy yards of pure baby alpaca wool, meticulously hand-painted with subtle striations of black and charcoal that that gremlin had never appreciated the nuances of.

He would scoff, except Hien is holding his eyes in blistering contact as he peels his jacket from his body one arm at a time. He isn't quite putting on a show, but it isn't a utilitarian motion either.

A quiet threat, Hades realizes -- but one not deliberately made. Hien is undressing thoughtfully, contemplatively; he is determining his next move.

He is also hard as a rock, the dim upstairs light catching the angles of his cock through the leather, and Hades finds himself once more starved.

Remembering he is not allowed to speak, he instead leans forward to stretch his teeth over the bulge, angling his neck only slightly painfully as his braid pulls him back. The leather has a heady flavor, and Hien's thick fingers slip into his hair to grip it with deceptive softness.

"Good boy," Hien whispers. "Use your mouth." He opens his pants one tedious button after another, taking more time than necessary. As the leather parts, Hades' tongue darts between his fingers, licking around them and the sharp tang of silver metal. "So eager for me. Do you remember how I taste? Did you like it?"

A whimper is his only reply; Hades isn't ready to break his rules yet.

"Such pretty plum lipstick you wore."

The last button opens, and the tension between them snaps into a tight line.

"So fucking _ hot. _ Sloppy. Do you always get fucked by men in alleys?"

Hades opens his mouth to sharply tell Hien exactly_ who _ had fucked _ whom_, but he is muffled and stuffed unceremoniously full of cock. His eyes roll back and the muscles of his throat relax; he will _ show _ this man how good he can be, and he swallows him whole, saliva slipping free and down his chin as he forgets, just for a moment, all of his poise that he holds so carefully close.

Hien does not bother to stifle the snarl that is wrenched from his body. "So good for me," he groans, and Hades preens at the praise, lapping the heavy vein at his base. Hands clutch at nothing and the ribbon tugs harshly on his hair every time he bobs his way down the cock in front of him, and he mourns his lack of_ pretty plum lipstick _ to smear as a mark of possession.

He wants to see himself on this man in the morning light.

"Lay back," he is commanded, and he pops off with a slurp to hastily obey.

Hien removes the rest of his clothes nimbly and without any show, tossing them wherever gravity seems to want them. He looks questioningly around the room.

"Bedside table," Morrigan says quietly from her corner, and when he looks at her she is gobsmacked, enraptured. 

Visibly wet.

The first drawer has what he needs: lubricant. (Next to _ four _ Cadbury cream eggs, and it isn't even near Easter; he is dying to know which one of them could be so deplorable.) Prize in hand, he returns to Hades' side, untying the darling bow that holds his wrists prisoner and massaging blood back into his hands. Hades is moonlight on an expensive canvas of dark charcoal sheets, and he is going to _ ruin _ him.

He clicks the lube open when Hades clears his throat, voice rough from deepthroating.

"I, ah. I haven't done that in some time, and… That is." Hades bites his lip and looks helplessly at Morrigan, who is nodding encouragingly, her smile sweet. "I would like to not receive tonight."

Hien chuckles softly and pets Hades' cheek, tenderly tracing his lips. "Yeah, of course. Not a problem. Anything else, while we're here?"

Hades shakes his head in the negative, kissing Hien's fingertips.

Once everyone is satisfied, Hien places his thumb into the other man's mouth and grips his jaw with enough force to bruise. "You haven't been _ good enough _ to get fucked. I'm going to ride you, and if you come, I'm going to fuck Morrigan with her cunt just out of reach of your mouth. Not even a lick." He raises the lube high, drizzling it across Hades' cock. The temperature shock makes him jerk.

And then he is straddling him, broad shoulders blotting out the dim light, tan skin stretched deliciously taut above. Hien is lining himself up and sinking down before Hades has finished his exhale.

"_Ah!" _

He doesn't know which of them has shouted.

"Jesus, Hien," Morrigan breathes, walking to the bed. "How the _ fuck _ did you take him so fast?"

Hien grinds against Hades, who is turning crimson in his effort to not thrust up, beads of sweat sliding into his braid. "Please," he grins. "I went home and spent an hour with my largest plug." He swipes lube from Hades' body, taking himself in hand. "I knew what I was coming for."

Morrigan's incredulity is not surprising, given the deep stretch in Hien's body. Hades is not small, and periodically he has to reach for more lubricant to keep his movement smooth. His pace is steady, but once Hades bites his lip until it bleeds, he knows it's time to make this more challenging, and he beckons Morrigan over.

He kisses her sweetly, raking his blunt nails down Hades' chest. The vermilion welts left behind are beautiful, and shift with every heaving breath.

"Be a dear and make it hard for him to breathe, would you? He should earn his air."

She swings her knee over Hades' face, twisting his nipple until he cries out and she can muffle the sound with her cunt. He eats her as though starved, like he always does; he finds comfort in her taste, a sense of home and belonging, and with their paramour spearing himself eagerly on his dick he is rapidly approaching overstimulation. It only gets worse as four hands start to pinch and twist; Morrigan bends herself in half to take Hien's cock in her mouth and then he _ truly _ can't breathe, nose pressed up into her cleft and clit dragging along his chin. Her slick is trailing down his face and he sucks greedily, pushes his tongue in as far as he can, hoping she'll gush for him and he can drown in her tide.

Morrigan must have stopped blowing Hien, because he hears her warn: "He's getting close."

"I don't care," replies mildly, threateningly.

Hades whimpers, biting at Morrigan's clit, pulsing his lips in an effort to make this fast. She _ has _ to come, he has to make her, has to unleash himself into the slick hole that he is not allowed to fuck himself into with abandon no matter how desperate he gets.

She's moaning brokenly now, humping his face and he can't get any air. He grips the globes of her ass hard enough to bruise, knows she likes it that way, can't wait to see the green little fingerprints marring her skin in the morning--

"Finger him," she says.

"He _ has _ been good for us," Hien concedes, but it’s the pride in his voice that truly ruins him, and as the cap of the lube clicks he's coming, shouting up into Morrigan's snatch, muffled and wet and frantic. Hades takes what leverage he can and gives in, broken; he pummels Hien as hard as he can through the entire duration of his orgasm, and the stuttering grunts and hot splash of come across his belly are their own answer.

Tomorrow he can be punished for breaking his role, but right now he bodily shoves Morrigan off of him and onto the duvet, whimpering as his aching shaft is pulled free of Hien's body, and he descends on her, bringing Hien's fingers in to play until she is screaming for both of them and there, the familiar rushing wetness of her, soaking and claiming the bed as their shared space.

The three of them collapse together, breathing heavily in their own mess.

"These are _ Egyptian linen_, you know," Hades sighs.

"I know," Morrigan replies lovingly. "They do indeed stain terribly."

Hien regards them both, covered in hickeys and lube and an unreasonable amount of cum.

"If they're already ruined, does that mean we can make them worse in the morning?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A snack! <3

Hien wakes to the smell of coffee and some of Morrigan's hair in his nose. She is snoring.

He stretches, noting the tired burn in his muscles and his slightly sticky skin. The morning sun on his face is so sharp it itches, the loft’s curtains a transparent cream that speaks to a morning person living here.

Based on the absent occupant of the bed and the smell from the kitchen, he suspects it to be Hades.

He snuggles deeper into Morrigan's orbit, pressing a kiss to her sternum and lacing his fingers with hers. She doesn't stir, and the gentle humming from the kitchen downstairs lulls him back to sleep.

The second time, he wakes to a hand in his hair, and blinks blearily up at Hades. There is a tray on the nightstand: coffee, sugar, cream. Spices.

The mug has a butt on it.

"It's Morrigan's," Hades says softly, fondly.

"I don't know if you mean the mug, or the ass."

"Yes. Cream and sugar?"

"Please. More sugar than you think any coffee has a right to have, I'd wager."

"_He thinks any sugar is more than coffee should have_," comes an immensely disgruntled voice from beneath a hand embroidered pillow. "_He's an idiot_."

Hades stretches a long, pale arm languidly across Hien's body to pinch Morrigan's ass.

"We're going to the farmer's market today," he says as Morrigan indignantly shrieks and readies her pillow for war. "Would you like to come?"

Hien opens his mouth to say no; it's been lovely, it isn't personal, he just doesn't do this kind of thing more than once, but Hades is suddenly thrust off the bed by a barrage of cushions. Triumphantly, Morrigan spills across his lap, and when her eager mouth opens to lap at him all that spills forth is _ yes, yes, yes_.

He comes into her hot mouth, an inferno from the base of him that she swallows with a pleased hum, and his gaze snaps to Hades -- reclined with a cocked brow, sipping his coffee with excruciating slowness -- and he thinks he's never meant yes more in his life.

* * *

He stays with them for hours. He stays for dinner, and somehow, he stays the night.

That morning, the market should have made his bones twitch with domestic discomfort, but it never occurred to him to fret -- instead he and Morrigan entered the "_First Ever Get Spicy_" hot pepper eating contest, where she trounced him thoroughly. Their wounded pride and snotty noses were placated only with rounds of milky stout and an actual silk handkerchief from Hades, whose hands remained blissfully capsicum free.

Morrigan won $250, a bottle of tums, and the title of "Disgusting, honestly," from Hades.

Hien had laughed until he cried, and then broke every piece of etiquette drilled into him since he was a boy named Shun to invite _ himself _ to dinner at their home that evening. The horror at his rudeness, however, was interrupted by Morrigan's grin. Even Hades had a tilt to his lips, hidden strategically behind his drink.

"You're always welcome," she had said with all the warmth of summer.

And even if Hades' eyes were still guarded, his smile held fast -- and Hien believed her.

Dinner had been ratatouille, and sex in the shower, and dessert on the kitchen table. And now, Hades reads to them both by dim lamp light, a high fantasy novel Morrigan had asked for with a shy smile and a curl of her toes in the carpet.

He wears reading glasses, looks stern in them -- _ professorly_, even. She, on the other hand, is wearing these pink little short shorts that show off her heart-shaped ass, and halfway through chapter seven she reaches into the nightstand to snack on one of the horrible Cadbury eggs. Hades makes her brush her teeth again.

When enough hours have passed that the bustle of dawn isn't far, Hades kisses him goodnight -- long, and slow, and languid. Morrigan had dozed off a chapter ago, but Hades hadn't stopped, melodic voice ringing inside of him like a gong; now, his tongue invades his mouth, his limbs are heavy, and his heart sings a long, clear note.

They fall asleep kissing, and Hien's sleep is deep and dreamless.


	7. Chapter 7

She is beautiful, so beautiful. Worth getting up at this hour. Worth the abominable coffee shop line at the downtown market. His heart won’t slow as he watches, a steady beat of drums that he briefly considers may be palpitations. He thinks, yes, here, this moment— the hot line of dawn electrifying her, orange light turning her hair copper and the shadows under her eyes a deep trench of tiredness.

He had fucked her long, and slow, and hard. He made her call in sick to the café while he stuffed his tongue inside her and lapped her up, sucked his cum out of her and passed it along to Hades’ eager mouth.

Two weeks, and he had barely gone back to his own apartment. A change of clothes and a tube of his own toothpaste, yes, but his jaw now smelled of Hades’ aftershave and his t-shirts of Morrigan’s detergent. He had yet to discover how their home was always permeated with orange and clove, but he loved the secret scent — caught himself searching for it some mornings as they shared coffee. Disdain always rolled of Hades in waves as he held the sugar for his usual five second pour, and he felt right at home.

Kami help him, he had even bought candy for the nightstand.

He might even be in love.

* * *

Hien, as it turns out, works a myriad of jobs and has for the last seven years since college. His Uncle Gosetsu owns the Jamba Juice down by the pier, and he's on a shift there when the shriek of his phone reaches past the blenders.

His _ ringer _ . As though anyone would _ want _ to not text.

Except—

A chill hits him when he thinks of the only person who refuses, and how he has never once called him before.

_ Hades. _

He is out of his apron and in the employee break room faster than he could repeat what protein powder Steve or John or whoever had ordered. He fumbles his locker combination twice before nearly tearing it off its hinges and answering, _ finally answering, _on the second ring of the fourth call.

“Morrigan is sick.”

Lead settles deep inside of him.

He has had this conversation before.

“Which hospital?”

A pause. “What?”

“_Which hospital is she in, Hades._” It is hardly his fault how feral he sounds right now, how angry.

“What? Don’t be daft. She’s home. The soup place I order from isn’t taking cards online, and I can’t—"

“She’s home? She’s fine?”

“Hien.” Hades’ voice has changed, now. Understanding finally laces it, and he speaks as though to a cornered animal. Given his heart rate, the hairs at the back of his neck standing at attention, the razor edge of nerves in his stomach, Hien supposes that isn't wrong. “I’m so sorry, my darling. I didn’t think. Morrigan is fine, it’s just the flu. I’m in Barcelona and I can’t help her. Could you, please?”

His breathing is slowing, the icy blade of adrenaline receding. Not like the conversation he had had before, after all.

“I don’t have a key.”

Hades tuts on the other line, and even from across the planet Hien can see the face he is making.

“Yes you do. I added it to your motorcycle keys last month.”

He shakes them in his hanging leather jacket, and sure enough, the jingle is louder than normal. He hadn’t noticed.

“I’m going to kill you for calling like this, you know. Next time _ you will tell me it is not an emergency first_.”

“I will, I promise. And you can kill me all you like, as long as you _ feed _ our love first. She’s very fussy when she’s sick.”

“Somehow, I think _ you’re _ the fussy one here, Hades.”

He hangs up before he can get the address of the restaurant, and instead heads straight to the grocer his mother taught him to cook from.

* * *

Morrigan's blurred vision crystalizes in front of her, tendrils of steam curling in the breeze of the cracked window -- a spoonful of broth, held in tan fingers with a backdrop of extremely unruly raven locks of hair.

It smells divine. Rich, and savory, and suddenly she is _ starving. _

"Woah there, sweetheart." Hien carefully measures a second spoonful and blows on it for her. "You have to go slow."

"You never do," she slurs.

"Really?" he asks, arching an eyebrow and tutting. _ Learning from Hades_, she muses. "I seem to remember you loving it when I go slow. Deep enough to hurt, I think you said. Wide enough to break you."

She's fairly certain she has a fever, but her face seems to boil all the same. "Shut up and feed me."

"He was right, you _ are _ fussy. Feed you what, sweetheart?"

He sets the spoon down and starts to unbuckle his black leather belt with sharp, deliberate tugs, the same belt he had cracked across Hades' back as he fucked her into the wall--

Her cunt clenches, a savage spasm that sets her head spinning.

"Easy, easy," he coos, stepping out of his pants and getting more broth. "I'm just getting in bed with you. If you're wet enough I can make you come without you moving that's a bonus, but not if it makes you feel worse."

She baps his hand weakly away and reaches for the bowl, one of Urianger's thrown ceramics from several years back. A beautiful black and red piece, and she sincerely hopes she isn't so frail she drops it as she sips.

"You can't fuck a fever away, you know," she grouses.

Finally naked, he climbs in behind her and licks the shell of her ear. "Of course I can. Keep eating."

She shivers, and it may or may not be her delirium. "I like it when you tell me what to do, you know."

"Mm. Just as much as you love telling me what to do to Hades. Now stop stalling and open your legs."

She obliges, sliding one knee forward and up -- her position on her side is precarious, and she suspects he likes it that way.

"You're not to move unless its to eat or to come."

"Bossy."

His finger, roving at her entrance -- inquisitive little circles she knows would be ordinarily designed to tease, were she not so tired. Instead she sighs, limbs heavy with how oddly comforting the act is.

"I hope Hades isn't lonely," she murmurs, leaning her shoulders back against Hien's warm chest. Her skin is clammy against his, but he doesn't shy away -- instead, his free arm comes around her, a caging embrace that instead sets her free.

"We'll be sure to make it up to him the second he gets back." He begins to work her steadily to a slow, lazy orgasm, one that leaves her shaking and limp and halfway to dreams.

He's right, in the end -- he _ does _ break her fever.


End file.
